


Eastwood

by reaperlove



Series: Somewhere in the Distance a Hawk Screams [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Plot Twist, Western Setting, petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:03:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaperlove/pseuds/reaperlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They stare theír trademark stare, angry blue into furious green. Neither of them blinks. Their faces only inches apart, they start to circle each other, boots kicking up dust with each step, coat lapels flapping lazily in the warm breeze. Somewhere in the distance a hawk screams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eastwood

**Author's Note:**

> I rely heavily on references to season 6, episode 18, "Frontierland" and just assume you all have watched it :)

They stare theír trademark stare, angry blue into furious green. Neither of them blinks. Their faces only inches apart, they start to circle each other, boots kicking up dust with each step, coat lapels flapping lazily in the warm breeze. Somewhere in the distance a hawk screams.

 

“Will you two cut it out! There are enough really weird genre things, stuff, uhm, things, going on without you reenacting Highnoon!”

 

As Sam shouts a tumbleweed rolls by and he has to close his eyes for a minute to center himself.

 

“This is not my fault!” Cas and Dean exclaim loudly in perfect unison and Sam has to repress a strong urge to strangle them both.

 

“Look, it doesn’t matter who is responsible for what, what matters is how we get out of here. First thing we gotta figure out is where the hell _here_ is!”

 

“Sam is right, Dean. We should have different priorities than to blame each other.”

 

“Yeah, you’re only sayin’ that ‘cause it’s all your damn f-”

 

“I swear to god, either of you use that f-word again and I will kick your asses!”

 

Sam’s outburst leaves them quiet and they actually take a step back from each other’s personal space. Cas even manages to stare guiltily at his sensible shoes.

 

“My apologies, Sam. You’re right, of course there are more pressing matters at hand.”

 

Dean glares daggers at him and mutters something like “ass kisser”, but with a brief glance at Sam’s 100% done face, he swallows his protests. He just gives an ambiguous shrug and walks a few steps away from his brother and the damned smug angel.

 

No matter in which direction he turns, he can see nothing but a dirty plain, some rocks, the obligatory bull’s skull and the edges of the horizon swimming in the blistering heat. Maybe that shape in the distance could be a large cactus. Figures. Another tumbleweed crosses from left to right.

 

Just a few hours ago, Dean had made them investigate what looked like a hellhound infestation of a small Colorado town. Sam and Cas had protested, insisted on waiting until other hunters could join them. Cas wasn’t at full capacity after a fight with some douchebag angels who still blamed him for heaven’s sorry state and the brothers had never successfully fought more than one of Crowley’s ugly pets. But Dean had poked and prodded and downright begged until they reluctantly agreed to join him.

 

He could barely admit it to himself that he so desperately ached for a hunt because it actually felt good, the domestic life with Cas and Sam in the bunker, and whenever things went too smoothly, he knew they wouldn’t last. So before it could be taken away from him, he decided when it would end so he could be prepared for the inevitable backlash. And of course everything went southwards with the hunt as well pretty damn fast. Their holy oil doused glasses got knocked off by the first hound and they stumbled around stabbing blindly at empty air.

 

When they found themselves surrounded by more hellhounds than Cas could’ve ever smited at once, the angel grabbed the stubbornly protesting hunter and his younger brother and teleported them out. But instead of the safety of the bunker they found themselves in the middle of a fucking straight-out-of-a-movie desert and Cas was too drained to try again for home anytime soon.

 

“You sure you can’t remember what place you thought of when you zapped us?” Dean turns back to Cas, eyebrows raised in question.

 

“I’m not Dorothy, Dean! I don’t click my heels together and wish to be home in Kansas, that’s not how this works!”

 

“Well, _this_ doesn’t work like, at all! I’m really pretty sure we’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy, ” Dean throws up his arms and holds out his hands, shaking, palms upwards and pointing at their barren surroundings. Cas just stares his smiting stare and for the first time that day, Dean is glad the angel isn't fully charged. He’s seen this look literally kill somebody.

 

“Maybe we should just start walking over to that cactus, get you two out of the sun before it fries what little of your brain is left. Come on, Giddy up!” Sam points in the direction of the only piece of shade he can see for miles.

 

“Giddy up my ass, you ass!” Dean curses under his breath but follows his brother reluctantly.

 

As the three men near the spiky plant they can make out a trail of dust approaching from the east, no make that west, east, whatever, it’s approaching fairly fast.

 

“What the fuck? Is that a coach? Who the hell drives around in a fucking coach?”

 

Dean shades his eyes with his hands to get a better look and he can now clearly make out a team of four dark horses pulling a carriage and a heavily bearded guy on the box seat holding the reins and a shotgu. Without even thinking, his hands reach for the gun tucked in the back of his jeans. He glances over to Sam who seems to be doing the same and to Cas who just stands there, squinting.

 

“Cas, come over here! You’ll get yourself run over or shot at!”

 

“It’s quite fascinating, Dean. I haven’t seen this kind of stagecoach since 1873 and I never got the chance to ride in one. I didn’t used to be so close to the humans in my charge back then.” He pointedly looks at Dean who manages to blush a little.

 

“The mare on the left needs new horseshoes though.”

 

“Well, good for her, Mrs. Smith, now get your ass over here, pronto!”

 

“That is not my name, _again_ , and now you’re just being rude on purpose.”

 

“What’s the deal with you two? Focus, dudes. What do we do with this, this horse thingie?”

 

Sam points vaguely in the direction of the approaching stage coach.

 

“First of all, we never call it that again, _dude_. And second, that _thing_ seems to be our only way out of this sand crap, so let’s flag it down, we’re making the rest up as we go. Just play along until we’re outta here.”

 

With that Dean steps forward and starts flailing his arms and whistling. To his surprised he watches the carriage make an immediate turn left before it stops right beside them only moments later.

 

“Howdy, strangers! Didn’t expect to pick you up before wednesday. Man, they never tell me shit about changes in the schedule. You’re lucky I had to get some supplies, you don’t seem to be equipped to spend time out here in the desert.”

 

The coachman lets his gaze slide over Sam and Dean’s jeans and plain shirts and frowns at Cas’s suit and trenchcoat.

 

“Didn’t anybody tell you what best to wear? What are you even supposed to be? And where’s your luggage?” The man#s voice grows from irritated to borderline hostile and he tightens his grip around the shotgun a little too fast for Dean's liking.

 

“Woah, buddy, easy! I’m Dean, that’s my brother Sam and this guy’s Cas, he’s from, uhm, overseas. Old world, you know, they’re sometimes a bit cuckoo with their clothes and stuff.”

 

The frown on the bearded face starts to ease a bit and Dean hopes western guy didn’t notice that he avoided the luggage question.

 

“Yes, good man, I’m from Germany, we are very fond of our cuckoos.” Cas chimes in and Dean rolls his eyes farther back than it should be humanly possible.

 

“Well, that’s something… I guess. Hah, this job never gets old. My name’s Shotgun Taylor, known as the best god darn stagecoach driver in all the wild west!” He cleares his throat, obviously waiting for some sort of recognition but is just receiving blank stares.

 

“Well, then, this isn't awkward at all. Okie dokie fellas, jump in, I’ll take you the rest of the way to Eastwood!”

 

“Will you give us just a second, Mr. uh, Shotgun, I just have to show something to my brother.”

 

Sam turns away from the still happily smiling driver and motions to Cas and Dean to come closer.

 

“Wow, Sammy, you’re so good with words, amazing. A plus cover story.”

 

“Shut up and listen, are we sure we want to get in? Eastwood? Doesn’t all of this seem a little sketchy to you, like a really badly written amateur Western?”

 

“What else are we gonna do? Turn into beef jerky until Wings here figures out how to get us back?”

 

“I don’t agree with your choice of words, Dean, but otherwise you’re right. Until I recover fully it’s best we find a place with food and water, and I don’t think we can make it to an appropriate settlement on foot.”

 

“Of course I’m right! How bad can a town called Eastwood be? I bet it’s awesome. Besides, I invoke the okie-dokie rule and say the guy’s alright.”

 

“That’s a stupid rule and please don’t tell me you haven’t learned anything from our last visit to the wild west. I thought that would’ve cured you from your weird Clint Eastwood fetish.”

 

“Still not a fetish, Sammy. And not the point here anyway. Come on, maybe we can have a good, clean, fun adventure before we’ve got to return to hellhound crap or drive each other nuts holed up together in the bunker.”

 

Cas’s head perks up at the last sentence but he doesn’t comment on it. Sam just throws up his arms in defeat, he knows that it’s useless to fight his brother once he’s made up his stubborn as a mule mind. And he really needs a glass of water before he loses his marbles completely, because he could swear that big rock a few feet away just moved an inch to the left.

 

“Did you, did you guys see that? That, that rock, it just, it came closer. And it hissed at me.”

 

“Dehydration, probably a sun stroke. I can say more after I’ve examined his urine.” Cas is by Sam's side and roughly feeling for his pulse.

 

“Oh come on, Cas, gross! You’re not sniffing my brother’s ...whatever, you are not sniffing my brother. Just get him inside the coach, he'll be fine.”

 

Dean gently pushes his brother up the step and into the carriage. He and Cas take their seats opposite Sam.

 

“You might want to sit in direction of travel, Dean, I know you have a delicate stomach when it comes to transportation other than a car.”

 

“I’m not delicate, in any way. I’ve been on a fucking plane, to Hell and Purgatory, how rough could this possibly be? Hey, Taylor! We’re ready to roll!”

 

\------------------------

“Oh my god, that was the roughest ride ever, I think I'm gonna be sick.”

 

Dean stumbles out of the coach, bends over, and pukes the entire content of his delicate stomach into the dust. He expects an “I told you so” when Cas comes up behind him, but instead, Cas strokes soothing patterns on his back and puts a cool hand to his forehead.

 

“You will be better soon. These rides are very uncomfortable, nothing compared to your ‘Baby’.”

 

Dean leans into the touch, too wrung out to fight against the caress. It feels good, calming, right. After a few minutes he manages to stand up straight again, smiles at Cas and puts his hand on his shoulder in what he hopes can only be interpreted as a brotherly way.

 

“Thanks, buddy. We should, um, take a look around. How’s Sam doing, he OK?”

 

“I’m fine. But something’s seriously off here. Does that look in any way like a real Western town to you? The street’s not muddy enough and all the houses look brand new. Everybody’s so clean, that’s nothing like Sunrise, Wyoming.”

 

A man in a brown cowboy hat, shiny black boots and a serape walks by, an unlit cigar resting in the corner of his mouth.

 

“See?”

 

“I told you it was authentic wardrobe!” Dean hissed triumphantly, flagging down the serape guy. “Heya, Sir, would you mind telling me the time and date, good man? I always get a little woozy after a long travel.”

 

The man looks up to Dean, closes his eyes to slits and broadens his shoulders.

 

“It’s the 26th of July, 1873, almost high noon, why? That's an odd question. Who are you, stranger? We don’t like nosy people around here. Makes us nervous.”

 

The man lets his hand rest on the holster he’s wearing on his hip and steps closer, crowding Dean inside the narrow alley between two wooden houses. Dean quickly grabs his gun, clicks the safety off and aims at the now very confused looking man.

 

“You see, in this world there’s two kind of people, my friend. Those with loaded guns, and those who dig. Do you wanna dig, pal?” Dean growls in his best Eastwood voice which he totally never practiced in front of a mirror.

 

The man holds his hands up, shakes his head and laughs nervously.

 

“Sorry, man. Misunderstanding! I thought you were someone else. No hard feelings!”

 

He slowly walks back to the street. Dean turns to Cas and Sam, wearing a big smile on his face.

 

“Told ya, Sammy, no one beats Clint.”

 

“The Good, the Bad and the Ugly?”

 

“Correctomundo!”

 

“I don’t get the ugly, the man was quite good looking.”

 

Sam tries to ignore Cas’s last remark and the way it made his brother look. Was that jealousy? Must still be the sun and lack of water. Speaking of…

 

“Let’s find the saloon, I need something to drink. And try not to start a damn shoot out until we get there, will you Dean?”

 

“You’re welcome for saving your ass back there, bitch.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

“I don’t understand that reference, is that from another Western? It hasn’t been Metatron’s favourite genre, so I might not know that particular one.”

 

“It’s okay, Etta Place, just follow me and the Kid and most important of all: let us do the talking.”

 

“If you are deliberately calling me women’s name in order to degrade me, Dean,

I can tell you that it doesn’t work. Do you not find women to be equal?”

 

“Oh, no, no, that’s not what I meant! You know that I respect and love women and-”

 

“So do you wish I was a woman? Is something wrong with my male vessel?”

 

“Oh no, you’re fine, more than fine,” Dean stumbles over his words and then blurts out, “I’d never want you to change!”

 

Dean first turns bright tomato red after his outburst and then away from his smirking brother and the entirely too pleased looking angel, briskly walks up to the saloon and pushes the swinging door open.

 

“Now this is what I call a saloon!”

 

It’s a large room, on the far end is a bar with a large mirror and a grumpy looking bartender behind it, on the left stairs leading up to a wooden gallery with sparsely dressed women leaning against the railing. On the right is a piano player sitting in front of his large instrument, his happy tune filling the air. There’s a poker game going on, people sitting around and drinking whisky and beer at each of the six tables, everybody chatting busily.

 

Cas and Sam come stumbling in and the music abruptly stops, everybody staring at the newcomers.

 

“Well, this is awkward.”

 

Sam plasters on his brightest smile, turns his puppy dog eyes up to eleven and waves at the silent people.

 

“Howdy, fellas!”

 

The music starts playing again and everybody returns to what they’ve been doing before the interruption.

 

“We don’t have any of the period’s currency I assume. How are you planning on purchasing food and drink?”

 

“Cas has a point, Dean. We don’t have dragon gold with us this time and I doubt that they accept Visa or Mastercard.”

 

“Don’t worry little brother, I’ve got an idea.”

 

Sam watches Dean approach the card players. They exchange a few words before Dean grabs a vacant chair and starts dealing the cards. He winks conspiratorially at Sam and receives bitch face number 4 (the worried on) in return.

 

“Don’t worry, Sam. Your brother is very skilled at this game, he’ll have enough money in about 41 minutes.”

 

“If you say so Cas.”

 

They sit down at a table behind the poker players and wait. Sam listens for any sounds of upcoming trouble, but Dean’s never been a cheater, and the men seem to have a pleasant conversation.

 

About 41 minutes later, Dean comes over to their table, grinning from ear to ear. He slaps down a bundle of 20 dollar bills in front of them.

 

“That should be enough for a week in two of the rooms upstairs and three meals a day. Am I the greatest or am I the greatest?”

 

“You’re the greatest,” Sam admits begrudgingly, though he can’t keep the smile off his face. “So, I’ll get us some food and the rooms, I’m about to fall asleep standing. Maybe we can figure out what to do next after we got some shut eye.”

 

They eat a pretty decent beef stew with cornbread, Cas gets his own plate so he doesn’t stick out, and Dean almost starts to enjoy the relaxed atmosphere. He’s always in a much better mood when he can provide for his family.

 

After their dinner, Sam and Dean say goodnight to Cas and crash down in the second room. It’s got one big bed and a small table with a washstand pitcher, a large mirror is mounted to the wall behind it. Sam pours some water out of the pitcher and proceeds washing his face. He takes a look into the mirror and freezes.

 

“Dean! Come here! There’s a face in the mirror and I swear to god, I can hear the hissing again!”

 

Dean rushes to his side and takes a close look at the reflecting surface.

 

“I can only see my own face and you know, that’s what a mirror actually is there for. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary. You sure you didn’t just imagine it? The heat and dehydration and stuff?”

 

“I’m not crazy, Dean! There is a man inside the mirror!”

 

Cas comes bursting through the door, blade in hand, ready to fight.

 

“What’s wrong? I heard Sam screaming!”

 

“Everything’s alright, Cas, Sam just needs some sleep.”

 

“I am not hallucinating! There is someone inside the mirror!”

 

Sam starts to hyperventilate and sits down on the edge of the bed. Cas and Dean trade a long look and Cas finally kneels down in front of Sam and gently touches his index and middle finger to his forehead. Sam instantly closes his eyes and slumps back on the mattress, his features peacefully relaxed in deep slumber.

 

“Thanks, Cas. He was freaking out, could’ve hurt himself or get us kicked out of the only hotel in town. Is it cool if I crash in your room? Let him get some undisturbed rest?”

 

Dean blushes a little at his own question and promptly scolds himself for that. There’s nothing wrong with sharing a room with a friend, practically a family member. But he can’t stop thinking about how good the simple touch after the whole embarrassing puking thing had felt and how awesome it might be to cuddle close to Cas, be the little spoon, feel strong arms protectively wrapped around him….

 

“Of course, Dean. You can have my bed, I can spend the night standing beside you, watching over your sleep.”

 

Cas had interrupted his train of thought and seriously, Dean has no fucking idea where that particular train had been heading for.

 

“The hell you will, that’s creepy, how often do I have to tell you that? Bed’s big enough for both of us, you need to rest if you wanna zapp us outta here asap.”

 

Dean asks himself what the actually fuck he’s doing and follows Cas into his room. It wasn’t the first time he thought about Cas in a more boyfriend and less brother kind of way, and if he was totally honest with himself, that was the main reason that drove him up the walls in the bunker and ultimately out to Colorado and the foolish hellhound hunt. He can’t stand to be so close to Cas and feel that way he feels anymore and he’s too scared to make a move. What if Cas just doesn’t get it? What if he’s appalled and leaves?

 

All this is going round and round inside Dean’s head and he doesn’t really notice that Cas is leading him to the left side of the bed. It’s much smaller than the one Sam’s currently snoring on and when Cas puts Dean’s legs onto the mattress and lays down on the other side, the angel and the hunter are suddenly lying face to face, only a few inches apart.

 

Dean blinks, suddenly realizing the closeness. He should probably move away but he can’t stop looking into those deep, blue eyes. He sees his face reflected in them, stars, endless galaxies. He’s never seen something as breathtakingly beautiful before.

 

He tentatively reaches out his left hand, lets his fingertips ghost over Cas’s cheeks, his thumb trail over his plush lips.

 

“Cas.”

 

That’s all Dean manages to whisper.

 

“Shh, I know Dean. I’ve known for a long, long time. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up, you foolish human.”

 

Cas smiles and cups Dean’s chin in his hand. He moves closer, Dean can feel his sweet breath on his face and finally, finally, Cas presses his lips to Dean’s. Dean has never felt like this before. He kisses back, putting all that’s been left unsaid until now in this kiss, the longing, the fear, the love. He can feel tears streaming down his face. This is it, this is what he’s been running from all the time. He’s been so stupid. This is right and safe and home.

 

“I’m so sorry Cas. I’ve been pushing you away, I’ve been so scared. So scared you wouldn’t feel the same, to mess everything up and lose you for good.”

 

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ve got you, Dean. I’m not leaving:”

 

They kiss again, deeper this time, Cas slips his tongue into Dean’s mouth, wringing a moan out of him. Dean lets his hands roam over Cas’s back, dip under his shirt. Cas carefully rolls Dean on his back, never breaking the kiss. Dean parts his legs and Cas slips between them. They fit together perfectly. He rolls his hips, can feel his hardening cock rub against Dean’s growing erection. The feeling is almost overwhelming and Dean pushes back against Cas, desperately searching for more friction. There’s too much fabric between them, Cas needs to feel Dean, all of him. Cas breaks away from Dean’s mouth, roughly unbuttons his shirt, sends buttons flying everywhere. Dean whimpers at the sudden loss of lip to lip contact, tries to draw Cas back in. When he realizes what the angel is doing, he lifts his ass so Cas can push down his jeans. He kisses a trail down from Dean’s collarbone, over his chest, belly down to the brim of his boxers. He puts the soft fabric between his teeth and slowly pulls them down, down over Dean’s throbbing dick. Dean hisses in anticipation. Only a few inches more and he’s finally -

 

“Stop! Cut, cut, cut!”

 

Cas and Dean fly apart at the shrill voice, both reaching for their discarded weapons.

A door opens behind the mirror and a short man walks out. He’s wearing a baseball cap with the word “director” embroidered on it.

 

“What the fuck? Who are you? The fuck’s going on?”

 

Dean has managed to pull his pants back up but is still searching for his weapon. Cas puts himself between Dean and the strange intruder, his arm raised, ready to smite everything that dares to threaten his Dean.

 

“Answer! I demand an explanation!”

 

“Guys, guys, chill! This show’s PG-13 and you were getting a bit too “adult”, if you know what I mean. We could edit it out later, but pixeling the live stream is a bitch! Haven’t you read your contracts? Seriously, I appreciate the whole “Brokeback Mountain” vibe, but it clearly says, any form of intercourse has to take place under the blanket. Jesus, we had to cut to that sleeping giant next door, there are children watching! Jimmy, how are the ratings? are we losing viewers?”

 

The director walks back behind the mirror and leaves the door wide open, revealing two huge cameras and several crew members. Dean and Cas are staring open mouthed at each other. Dean shakes himself out of the stupor and slowly walks towards the door; Cas follows on his heel.

 

They step into a room full of monitors, each one showing another part of the town and the surrounding desert. Realization is slowly dawning onto Dean.

 

“This is a fucking reality TV show! None of this has been real. We are live on national television. I think I’m gonna throw up.”

 

Cas is still staring at the large board over the monitors spelling: “Eastwood - Adventures in the Wild West”. A small woman hands him a stack of paper.

 

“Here. Jeremy says you have to read the contract again and sign it, or you’ll get kicked out before the next voting.”

 

Dean grabs the papers and flips through the pages, his face growing paler by the second.

 

“Cas, there’ve been cameras everywhere, all the time. That’s what Sam’s been seeing and hearing. They broadcasted everything. Us stumbling through the desert like idiots, me puking all over myself and oh god, Cas, the whole fucking nation saw my boner.”

 

Dean looks so terrified and Cas can’t stop himself from laughing, he doubles over and wheezes, Dean has never seen him like this before, so carefree and genuinely happy. He joins in the laughter, national embarrassment be damned. He pulls Cas into a tight embrace.

 

“Well this way we don’t have to worry about how we’re going to tell our friends. Or how to get home. And to be honest, I’m dying to see Sam’s face when he finds out.”

He kisses Cas again and when he feels his angel smiling against his lips, he knows everything’s going to be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> It's this time of the month again, [spncoldesthits](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/) time! This month: "Rough Riders and Reality TV".
> 
> My heart goes out to [ CopaceticBrainBox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CopaceticBrainBox/pseuds/CopaceticBrainBox), thank you so, so very much for your support and editing, my kindred spirit of weirdness.
> 
>  
> 
> Shotgun Taylor has been a real life legendary stage driver. Etta Place is a character from "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid". Jeans have been made available for everybody by Levi's in 1873. I actually did some research for this thing.
> 
> IMPORTANT UPDATE!  
> I won! I won this month's looser challenge! I should technically thank all those who didn't read this, but they are just too many! So , just bath in the glory of what officially is The Worst fic of the new year!


End file.
